


30 Minutes

by wren_st_simon



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 04:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wren_st_simon/pseuds/wren_st_simon
Summary: Waverly and Nicole meet for coffee.





	30 Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: some swearing and a reference to domestic violence**
> 
> This fic is the result of an on-going conversation about how to make fanfic characters (in general, but also specifically Nicole and Waverly) less flat. I guess I find that Waverly and Nicole often only talk about their relationship and that their character development is limited by the types of conflicts they deal with (the most common one being, how do we sort out our feelings for each other and end up together?).
> 
> Basically I said a bunch of stuff, and then thought it would only be fair for me to attempt to do that.
> 
> This is my first fic. Feedback welcomed!

Nicole spotted Waverly as soon as she walked in the diner. Waverly was easy to spot, though, mostly because she always sat in the same booth, but also because she always sat somewhere with a view of the outside. Waverly’s seating preferences worked well for Nicole who liked to sit facing the door and the other patrons since it’s easier to assess threats that way. In law enforcement they used a threat assessment scale that went from white to yellow to red to black—white being no threat and black requiring you to draw your firearm. At most times, Nicole was a canary yellow while Waverly was always joyfully, blissfully white.

Waverly turned around as Nicole approached the booth. They smiled at each other.

“How could you tell?” Nicole asked.

“Your boots,” she said, as Nicole put her hand on Waverly’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss her. “I ordered you coffee,” she said, motioning to the steaming mug. “But half-caf so you can sleep before midnight.”

“Thank you,” Nicole said, as she sat down heavily with an exhale.

“Tough day?” Waverly asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Not really,” Nicole said. Waverly tilted her head slightly and focused her eyes on Nicole. “Waves, darling, we have half an hour together before you go to work, and I really don’t want it to be dominated by my bad day.”

“Nicole. The thing I care about most is—”

Nicole stepped in, knowing the familiar phrase “—what happens to people and how they feel about it. I know, I know.”

Waverly shook her head yes, in a slow, assured way.

“Fine,” Nicole resigned. “My bad day. Well, it started when—you know how I have an orange with my coffee every morning?”

“Come on, Nicole. Yes, I know this.”

Nicole put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. So I come into work and Jones has his feet up in his desk and he’s eating an orange and, like, he’s just a little too into it? Anyway, spoiler alert, it’s my fucking orange. He’s eating my orange, and it’s my last one.”

“Oh no!”

“Oh yes! And thennn, you know how I was excited to get my new business cards?”

“Uh huh, after giving them away to all of Purgatory’s bartenders hoping one would call you back.”

Nicole gave her a look that was half amusement, half reproach. “Well,” Nicole continued, “I finally got them and they spelled Haught wrong.”

“What!”

“Yes! They forgot the second H. So now I have 250 business cards for Nicole Haugt.”

“Haugt really doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Waverly crinkled her nose. “Can they order you new ones?”

“Nah, our budget is miniscule. Plus it was Anne-Marie’s fault anyway—she wrote it wrong on the order form.” Nicole sighed. “So for my next 250 interactions I’ll be Officer Nicole Haugt. Nicole Haugt, at your service.”

“Nicole Haugt, to serve and protect!” They both laughed, but for Nicole it was strained. They were silent for a second until Waverly said, “That wasn’t the worst part of your day, though, was it?”

Nicole shook her head no. “I, uh, I had a simply charming traffic related interaction with Mr. Finch in which he called me a cunt.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed,” Nicole smiled wryly and despite herself.

And then she paused, because here it was. Here was the part she didn’t want to talk about. She slid herself forward in her seat, laced her fingers at the knuckles and pushed them together so she could feel each bone against another. “And, uh, Bains and I had to go out on a domestic violence call?”

It wasn’t a question, but Nicole raised her voice at the end as if it were one. As if it still felt not quite in the realm of reality.

Waverly didn’t say anything, but pulled her shoulders back, sat up straighter, and breathed in deeply. Nicole continued, “They were young—not that that really matters—but apparently it’s not the first time, and when I asked if she wanted to press charges she just said that she didn’t have anywhere else to go. I just—I dunno, I dunno,” she shook her head. She unlaced her fingers and took a gulp of coffee. Looking up at Waverly she said, “You know, I wanted to be a police officer because I wanted to help people, because I like people. But now I just see people at their worst in the worst situations. And I do get to help people, but only because everything is so messed up. It just sucks sometimes when I have to remember that. Does this make sense?”

“Yeah it makes sense. Like maybe it would be better if you could help people by eliminating or limiting problems rather than helping once things get bad?”

“Yeah,” Nicole said, and though that wasn’t fully it, it was a start.

Nicole turned her head to the window. Across the street, two teenagers sharing ear-buds leaned towards each other on a bench and a man laden with white plastic grocery bags struggled to open his car door.

Waverly put her hands over both of Nicole’s, and Nicole turned her attention back to her. “Thank you for telling me about your day,” Waverly said, and they looked at each other for a while; Nicole warmed to a pale yellow.

“Thank you for forcing me to tell you about my day,” Nicole said. Waverly exhaled a small laugh. “But, no, I mean, it’s good. It’s good to talk, and it’s nice that you care about what happens to me and how I feel about it.”

“Come on,” Waverly said, sliding out of the booth and extending her hand back for Nicole. “You can walk me to work. We’ll stop by Donald’s, and I’ll buy you some oranges.”


End file.
